


baby, I’m a house on fire

by erlkoenig



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot, Trans Fenris, Trans Male Character, You can pry that out of my cold dead hands, also no i do not accept constructive criticism if it’s just meant to bash this ship bye, but i wanted to give readers a heads up that they are alluded to in a roundabout way, consent issues are alluded to in past tense and everything fenders is consensual, i don’t know her, this is an excuse to indulge in some tender fenders nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 16:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21084722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlkoenig/pseuds/erlkoenig
Summary: and I wanna keep burningFenris and Anders trip, stumble and fall into something that shouldn’t be this easy, should it?a collection of loosely connected vignettes about navigating whatever it is they’ve found





	1. I’m gonna drink you in like oxygen

The first time Fenris comes is with Anders’ face pressed between his thighs, Anders’ thumbs stroking the backs of his knees, his own fingers clenched in messy hair as he tries to remember how to breathe again.

When Anders presses an open-mouth kiss to his calf he wants to kick him, wants to put his foot completely through the mage’s chest because  _ how dare he make this intimate _ and the laugh that tears its way out of his throat is near hysterical. 

Anders looks up at him gently, asks, “Are you okay?” It’s such an absurd question, an absurd situation and Fenris can feel his heart hammering behind his rib cage. His leggings are dangling from one foot, the scratchy sheet pulled tight across the shitty clinic cot rubbing rough against his ass, his tunic and chest plate across the room and the only thing keeping him from being completely exposed are the strips of cloth wrapped tight around his chest. 

“Fine.” He hisses, jerks his leg away to fumble for his leggings. 

Anders is still kneeling between his knees, preventing him from getting dressed and he’s about to snap at him for it, the gears in his mind turning sluggishly in his post-orgasm haze and he can’t think of anything crueler than  _ mage _ to hurl at him. Not when his come is smeared over Ander’s lips and down his chin still. He’s staring, he knows it, knows Anders has caught him staring so he doesn’t react fast enough to pull away when Anders presses his fingers to the sweat-soaked cloth binding him. 

“This is terrible for your ribs, you know.” Anders says, too softly, with too much  _ care  _ and  _ concern  _ and it makes Fenris’ skin itch.

“Fuck off.” Fenris spits, tries to flinch away but Anders catches his wrists before he can fling himself off the bed heels-over-ass onto the floor. “You patched me up, our business should have been concluded then.”

“You need to relax to heal properly.” The grip on his wrists loosens but doesn’t let go. It’s just a shoulder wound, a stray arrow that caught him off-guard, the ragged edges of it puffy and pink and hot by the time Fenris could admit he feared infection more than Anders’ magic. “You’re wound so tight all the time it’s a wonder you don’t shatter apart when someone so much as looks at you wrong.”

Fenris growls, pulls his wrists free. “Are we done?” Freezes when he feels Anders’ thumb press against his clit.

“You can tell me to stop anytime, you know that right?”

Fenris bites back another hysterical laugh, bites into his tongue until he can taste blood and it’s smeared across his teeth when he says, “stop.”

Anders removes his hand, wipes them on the front of his coat and stands. Turns away and Fenris watches him with wide-eyes that wait for the catch, the punchline, for Anders to turn around and hold him down and take. 

Anders rifles through a box of vials, his back to Fenris, across the room. “You’ve never had a problem choking down one of the tinctures and potions that Hawke gives you, and she gets them from me, so be a big boy and drink this tomorrow morning when you wake up.” Holds out a vial of something dark red, viscous liquid. “It’ll clean out any infection that’s already settled before I could clean your wound, and next time come to me  _ before _ the gangrene sets in, stubborn asshole.”

Fenris doesn’t move from the cot, fingers digging into the wood beneath the sheet. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“You stopped.”

Anders’ face pales at that, and he runs his free hand nervously through his hair, smoothing out the tangles that Fenris’ hands had pulled into it. “Maker, I do  _ not  _ want to unpack that tonight. Or ever.”

When Fenris still doesn’t move, Anders huffs out a sigh and crosses the room again, takes Fenris’ hand and presses the vial into his palm, tries not to notice the way his hand trembles in Anders’, curls his fingers around the glass and lets go of him. 

Fenris’ other hand catches a handful of his coat, twisting in the threadbare material until Anders worries that it will rip, “Fenris you fucking animal, let me—“

“What would you have done if I hadn’t told you to stop?”

“All kinds of things.” And Anders  _ really  _ does not want to think too hard about the vulnerability and fear writ across Fenris’ face. “Nothing you didn’t want — that is, I mean, I believe  _ stop  _ means  _ stop immediately,  _ as you just saw.”

“And if I changed my mind?”

“Stop means stop, Fenris, doesn’t matter when it’s said.” The implication of what it means that he has to  _ explain this  _ to him is much deeper — emotionally at least — than he wanted to go tonight. 

Fenris licks at his bottom lip, looks anywhere but at Anders and there’s color high on his cheeks, a dustier brown than his dark skin and Anders would find it endearing if not for the fact that this skinny elf could snap every bone in his body faster than Anders could scream. 

“I mean, what if I changed my mind since — since I told you  _ stop  _ and you  _ did. _ ”

“Andraste’s bouncing tits,” Anders breathes with a laugh, and the blush darkens on Fenris’ face. He slides his hand up Fenris’ bare thigh, slow, gentle, watching his face for any discomfort. “This alright?”

Fenris nods, no hesitation, and Anders is on his knees before he can overthink this.

The second ever time Fenris comes is with Anders’ tongue pressed into him, Anders’ thumb circling his clit, Anders’ name on his lips.


	2. know all your moves in the sheets

Anders is naked on his bed — just another clinic cot with a miserable excuse for a mattress lumped on top — staring at the ceiling and fingers shredding the sheets. He’s not sure how they got here, not sure he even cares when Fenris’ fingers curl and press inside him, sending electricity up his spine thats more than just the hum of lyrium under the elf’s skin.

“Ah  _ fuck,”  _ he breathes, presses his hips down and back, “yeah, yeah. Just like that.”

Fenris doesn’t say anything, hasn’t said anything except  _ get undressed _ and then  _ get undressed, please.  _ His eyes search Anders’ face, asking silently again and Anders answers again.

”I’m good, I promise I’ll tell you if I’m not— _ ah! _ ”

Fenris is still mostly clothed, no armor and Anders is grateful for that, glances over at discarded clawed gauntlets and chuckles softly and then moans low and loud in his throat when Fenris fucks into him more with his fingers.

They’re talented fingers. He tells Fenris this and the elf huffs like he’s offended, presses a third in, slick with oil and Anders is shameless as he tries to fuck himself on them. 

”You’re doing great, amazing,” he gasps, “you feel so good—“

“ _ Shut up. _ ” 

He wants the victory of making Fenris say  _ something _ but there’s a tremor in that deep voice that he doesn’t want to place, no matter how much his mind immediately tries to race with it. 

“Make me.” He says instead, grins, because he can distract Fenris from whatever demons are making his hand move slower, hesitant, like he’s afraid to touch him like this now even with three fingers buried all the way in Anders’ ass. Fenris glares at him so he shrugs, “I thought you’d jump at the chance to rough me up — ah, ah,  _ Fenris  _ fuck right  _ there.” _

“If I truly wanted to hurt you,  _ mage,  _ I would have long before now.” Fenris is breathless and Anders nearly crows with it, delights that this is affecting the elf too.

”You’re practically fisting me and still you won’t use my name,” chokes on a moan when Fenris twists his hand roughly, curls his fingers to press harder at that spot. “You need someone else to do all your dirty work then? Because Hawke won’t let you or because you don’t think you could take me?”

Fenris’ lip curls. “I  _ am  _ taking you,  _ Anders. _ ”

Anders barks out a laugh, shifts it into a groan and lets his eyes roll back and Maker help him but he’s sure there are  _ four  _ fingers in him now, the sounds between his legs are absolutely obscene and his cock is so hard he could kill someone with it.

“Let me touch you,” He breathes, grunts when Fenris flinches away and twists more of the sheets in his hands, “I want to touch you, want to make you feel good too.”  _ Want to kiss you _ , but he doesn’t dare say that out loud. 

Fenris spreads his fingers as he pushes them in again, wet sounds so loud now that Anders can feel his face actually burning from it. “No. We did that last time.”

Anders feel his heart plummet, draw his knees together and Fenris’ other hand darts out to try to keep them apart even as he looks up and that fear is back across his face. “Fenris this isn’t a  _ transaction _ , you don’t owe me anything, I  _ wanted  _ to do that to you and I thought you wanted it too.”

”I did.” Fenris says, pushes his knees apart again and fucks into him hard. “And I  _ want this.” _

Anders’ cock twitches against his stomach. “Then fuck me like you mean it.”

Fenris’ eyes flash with the challenge, that lyrium hum is louder now and Anders lets his head fall back, his lips part to spill every filthy thought and sound that comes to him as Fenris fucks him hard and fast and deep with his fingers. 

He’s panting with each movement of his wrist, sweat beading at his forehead and he’s looking at Anders with an intensity he’s only ever seen in a fight, like Anders’ body is some battle to win and he’s not about to lose. Anders lets him, rocks into it, breathes his name and again when Fenris’ breath catches at the sound of it.  _ FenrisFenrisFenrisyesyesyes _

He comes hard, untouched, biting his knuckles to muffle a scream as Fenris fucks him through it, fucks him slowly after, pulls away almost reluctant. 

Wipes his fingers on the sheet and there’s color on his cheeks again, his breathing is ragged and his shoulders heave with it. 

“Was it good for you too?” Anders asks, stretching, content.

Fenris looks down at him almost stricken, stands and collects his things, turns to leave. 

The door to the clinic shuts softly. His bed has never felt so cold and empty. 


	3. just turn your fears into trust

They’re camped out on the Wounded Coast because  _ of course  _ they are. Anders stares at the ceiling of his tent and it’s not Varric’s snoring that’s keeping him awake but it certainly doesn’t help. 

He closes his eyes and counts backwards from 100, makes it to 90 and his eyes peel themselves open again, blurry and puffy already. Somehow the root that’s digging into his spine is more comfortable than the clinic cots and he gives up on pretending he’s going to sleep any time soon. 

He crawls out of the tent and spots Fenris poking at the camp fire with a stick, having taken first watch because  _ of course  _ he has. He wonders if it would be too forward to sit next to him, try to strike up a conversation but he can’t think of anything they could talk about. 

He’s close enough to Fenris that he can see the elf tense and when did he get here? He swears under his breath, watches the flick of Fenris’ ear towards the sound and the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“I can’t sleep.” Anders offers. “Mind if I?”

Fenris shrugs and that’s good enough for now. 

“It’s so quiet out here at night. I’ve gotten used to the disjointed and disturbing sounds of Darktown now it’s hard to sleep without them.”

“Varric is bad company then?”

“A joke!” Anders says, clasps his hand over his heart. “What has you in such a good mood? Is it my company?” He waggles his eyebrows, chuckles when Fenris rolls his eyes. 

“Narcissist.”

“I didn’t know you knew such a big word.”

_ Low blow.  _ Ah. Justice. Fuck off.

Fenris tenses, ears drooping and he wants to take it back but knows that will only make things worse.

“What do you want?”

Anders considers the question. “Do you mean in general or right now?”

“I don’t care either way.”

“Harsh words for someone who has rutted against my face several times now.”

Fenris’ face turns an adorable, dusky brown and Anders moves closer. “Right now I’d like to have  _ you. _ That is, if you think you can keep watch while I do deliciously naughty things to you.”

Fenris sucks in a breath through clenched teeth and his hesitation screams that he’s considering it. Anders thinks, perhaps wrongly, that he’s gotten pretty good at reading the elf now. He touches his knee gently, just fingertips, not holding, leaving him room to move away. 

“If you want, of course.”

Fenris doesn’t answer him, stabs at the fire more aggressively and it’s giving Anders terrible ideas.

“What sorts of things?” It’s whispered and Fenris is studying the fire like it’s one of the picture books Hawke collects for him to practice his reading. 

“Anything you want.” Anders says, breath warm against Fenris’ ear and the elf shivers with it. “Though if I’m to be honest,” licks his lips nervously and takes a breath before he continues. “It’s a beautiful night, quiet, Hawke would hear anything long before either of us saw it. I want lay you out and take you apart slowly, under the starlight.”

“I’m not some maiden in need of wooing.”

“Don’t I know it.” Anders breathes, remembering how Fenris’ fingers feel fucking deep into him. “But everyone needs a little gentle wooing now and then. The stars are beautiful tonight, what do you say?”

“Someone could see.”

_ Good.  _ “No one will hear us over Varric.”

Fenris tenses again, pushes the stick into the fire and then after a long moment he relaxes, leans just a bit closer to Anders and it’s the closest to consent he’s going to get tonight. 

“You remember the safe word?”

“Shut up and get on with it.”

“What’s the word?” Anders sing-songs, fingers tracing patterns on his thighs through his leggings. 

“Phylactery.”

“Atta boy.” And he’s kissing Fenris then, bites at his lip until he opens to him, feels those arms loop around his neck and they’re falling gently back to the ground, Fenris beneath him and kissing him lazily like they have all the time in the world.

He wants to do this in a real bed but this is good too, there’s something  _ right  _ about this somehow, wet earth and firelight, stars bright above them. Their sleeping companions never factored into his wank fantasies but he knows not to look an opportunity horse in the mouth, or however that stupid saying goes because Fenris’ hand is moving between their bodies and all thoughts rush over the edge of the cliff they’re camped on.

“Slowly.” He whispers, bites at Fenris’ lips and pulls away. “Just lay back and let me make you feel good.”

There’s something unreadable in Fenris’ eyes and  _ Maker  _ they really do need to talk about this one day, but not tonight. 

It’s not the most romantic thing, he’s pulling Fenris’ leggings down and ignoring his tunic, the tight cloth wrapped around his chest underneath, there will be other nights for that, but he can make this one good too. Pulls the leggings off him and if anyone has to take a midnight piss there’s no way to explain this except the truth but he presses his thumb to Fenris’ clit and hopes he doesn’t think about it too hard.

“Ah,” Fenris gasps, presses his hips up and Anders bites his own lip as he watches him. Slides his thumb down and presses gently against him, waiting.

“Fenris,  _ please _ , may I?” He asks, already so hard and when Fenris nods he thinks he could die a happy man, presses his thumb in, careful not to catch even his blunt nails on any part of him as he fucks into him shallow, slow. 

Fenris closes his eyes, shivers and Anders leans down to kiss him again. “Look at me,” he pleads against his throat, bites a mark there, “be here with  _ me. _ ” Green eyes open and he takes his victories wherever he can, especially when he slides another finger in him and hears Fenris breathe his name like a prayer. Not mage, not abomination, simply  _ Anders. _

“Gorgeous.” He says softly, feels Fenris clench around him and  _ Maker  _ he’s so tight. “Perfect, just look at you. You’re a wet dream.”

Fenris blushes again and turns his head, lets Anders turn his head back. 

“I mean it. I could come just fingering you like this, watching your face, hearing the noises you make.” Fenris gasps again at this, and Anders thinks — hopes — he might have a bit of a praise kink. It’s good, it’s  _ real good,  _ because Anders isn’t done with him yet. Fenris is already so wet for him so he slides another finger in beside the first and his thumb, fucks into him gently. “So good Fenris, so fucking  _ amazing _ . I love hearing you come for me, love knowing that it’s  _ me  _ making you feel this good.”

He’s panting now to match Fenris’ uneven breaths, presses his thumb against his clit and slides a third finger in and Fenris is arching his back, soft little  _ ah ah ah  _ sounds tumbling out of him as his hips rock down against Anders’ fingers. 

Every time they do this it’s fast, desperate, almost violently even though they’re alone, where no one could accidentally walk in on them. Now that there’s a chance they  _ could  _ be discovered, Anders wants so much to go slow, wants to take his time and it’s foolish, it’s  _ risky _ and in a way it’s downright stupid of him. 

So of course he wants it even more.

“Fenris,” he says, curls his fingers, breath catching in his throat when Fenris arches his spine with it. “I want — “ There’s no way to put this gently — or rather there  _ is,  _ he just doesn’t think Fenris wants to hear him tell him how he wants to make love to him under the stars. “I want you.” He finishes lamely.

Fenris pushes himself up on his elbows, staring Anders down like he  _ doesn’t  _ have three fingers in him, like he’s not sinfully wet around those finger, like Anders doesn’t want to push him back in the grass and fuck him until neither of them can remember their names.

“Alright.” Fenris says after a moment, and this is the least romantic thing in the world and Anders hates it and loves it at the same time. 

He laughs with it, pulls out of Fenris and wants to ask  _ are you sure  _ but his face must say it all because Fenris is pulling at him, pulling him over him and down into another kiss.

Nothing about this is sweet and gentle and romantic like he wants it to be but somehow it’s still perfect. His hands shake as he pushes down at his own clothes and Fenris’ hands —  _ Fenris _ is touching his hands gently, warm and solid against him as they undress as much as they dare. 

It’s perfect in its own way. 

He glances nervously at the tents, holds his breath just long enough to hear Varric's truly atrocious snoring, gentle rustling from Hawke’s tents that leads him to think they’re not the only ones taking advantage of the calm night but then Fenris is waving his hand in front of his face, pulling him back into the moment.

“Have I told you how gorgeous you are?”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice.” Fenris says, a smirk playing over his lips. He moves to roll over on his stomach and Anders catches his hip, guides him back into his back and ducks his head when Fenris arches one dark brow, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“I want to see you.”

“I’m right here.” Fenris says, shifts uncomfortably. “Get on with it.”

Four words, and they drag up another thing Anders files away under Things They Need To Talk About One Day so he presses down against Fenris, kisses him sweetly, gentle, his mouth, his chin, his nose, over his eyes as he lines himself up. Slides against Fenris’ clit again and Fenris’ knees jerk up, legs wrapping around his waist and it’s the last  _ okay  _ that he needs as he presses in and Fenris is so tight,  _ fuck  _ he’s so tight, it drags a sound out of him, broken and half-muffled against the elf’s throat as he slides in deeper and deeper and deeper until he can’t anymore.

“Perfect,” he breathes, scrapes his teeth over the pulse jumping beneath his lips. “Perfect. I knew you would be but  _ Maker _ —“

“Anders!” Fenris gasps, clamps a hand over his own mouth and the next is muffled. “Don’t — you cant  _ say  _ things like that.”

“Why not?” Anders asks, breathless as he pulls back and then rocks back in, “Its true.”

Fenris clenches so tight around him it punches the air out of his lungs. Tightens his legs around Anders’ waist and pulls him in deeper, arches up into the thrust with a low sound. 

“ _ Yes, _ ” Anders says, and he wonders what Fenris would look like riding his cock, rocking his hips down, taking his pleasure like that. Wonders if Fenris would want to take  _ him _ , fuck into Anders until he’s a mess beneath the elf and then ride his face until they’re both bonelessly satisfied. He has to make this good,  _ real good,  _ make Fenris want to do this again and again in a million different ways until they shame their ancestors and the Maker himself. 

But that’s not what tonight is about, tonight is about gentle and soft and as much loving as Fenris can stand from a  _ mage  _ so he pulls back slowly, angles each thrust to make Fenris’ toes curl, make his eyelids flutter shut, make his body arch up into every little touch. 

“I love seeing you like this,” Anders says tentatively, and Fenris’ eyes are cold, focused on him. “I love seeing you  _ enjoy  _ yourself,  _ enjoy _ what I can do for you, when you lose yourself for a while and take and take because I want to give you everything you want and more.” He’s babbling but he knows he’s saying the right things because there’s color in Fenris’ face, those wide eyes are dilated and his kiss-bruised lips are parted.  _ I love you,  _ and the thought is like a shock of cold water over him and boy, he doesn’t want to unpack  _ that _ tonight. 

At worst they hate each other. At best, they use each other to pretend for a little while that the world isn’t as shitty and cruel as it was before, emotions have no place here even like this. 

_ But you want this. You want him, just him.  _ His running inner monologue sounds horribly like Justice again and that would be more than a mood-killer. Fenris would never forgive him, would probably put his fist through his chest for reminding him of the Spirit when he’s balls deep in him and he’d have every right to do it. 

“Anders,” and the sound of his name tears a loud moan from him. “What are you thinking?” Fenris is breathless, but his eyes are focused, sharp again and Anders worries that he already knows what he’s thinking. 

“I’m thinking I want to do this again in a proper bed,” angles another sharp thrust that makes Fenris cry out and clap his hands over his mouth again. The tents are still blessedly quiet. “Spend hours finding all the places you like to be touched, kissed. Fall asleep with you just to wake up and do it again.”

Fenris snorts, the sound muffled behind his hands but he rocks his hips up and Anders takes that a good sign. 

“Ridiculous.” Fenris says, breathes out another  _ ah-ah-ah  _ and then, “right there, do that again.”

Anders rolls his hips and Fenris seems to come alive beneath him, rocks up to meet every little thrust, thighs tight around his waist and he’s tight around Anders cock and neither of them are going to last much longer. 

He reaches between them, presses his thumb to Fenris’ clit and that earns him an “ah,  _ fuck  _ — oh fuck  _ Anders yes!” _ His hips stutter and he nearly comes at just that and they’re both snickering awkwardly at it, laughing easily at it and it’s all so  _ perfect _ .

“I’m not going to last,” Anders grits out between thrusts and Fenris breathes, “I’m so close,” and they’re laughing again. 

It’s silly and stupid and sloppy and awkward and obscene and Anders leans down to kiss Fenris when he feels him clench around him again, feels him shudder and swallows the cry that wrenches itself out of Fenris’ throat. He’s not long after, once, twice, three more and he’s fucking Fenris while he’s coming down from one to drag another out of the elf beneath him and  _ fuck that’s so hot _ and he probably says as much, kissing him desperately to muffle his own sounds.

They’re sweaty and sticky. Fenris’ watch is probably ending soon and they should really get moving, should get dressed before the next watch but they’re just staring at each other, grinning stupidly. 

“Hi.” Anders says because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

“Hi.” Fenris says back with a flash of teeth. “That was good.”

“Yeah?”

“Real good.”

“Yeah.” Anders says, kisses the corner of his mouth again.

“Can you get out of me though?”

Anders pulls a face, pulls out and they both hum with the loss. Fenris lays there for a moment before slowly reaching for his leggings. Anders rights his clothing, runs a hand through his hair, pulls it out of the short ponytail and swears quietly. 

Fenris’ hands are gentle as they card through his hair, smooths it down before tying it back up. “Ridiculous.” He says softly with none of the usual bite, and something has changed between them but neither of them want to talk about it, not yet, not tonight.

“Are you two done?”

Fenris’ dark face goes startlingly pale and Anders looks past him to the tent where Varric has just emerged, rubbing at his eyes. 

“If you need a few more moments—“

“No.”

“Nope!”

They share a look, another wry laugh. Varric rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you dare perform an encore in the fucking tent, I have to sleep in there too.”

Fenris closes his eyes, face a mask of calm murder and Anders can’t bring himself to give a single shit about being caught. They’re going back to the tent, going back  _ together _ and he’s feeling lucky tonight, might try to sneak a cuddle in before Fenris loses his temper at last and punches his heart out through his throat. 

It’s worth the risk and he fakes a yawn, stands and makes his way to the tent. Varric says something to Fenris quietly enough that he can’t catch it but he does see the way that Fenris’ ears twitch, the shy way he ducks his head and the hint of a smile and the way that Varric claps his hand on his shoulder before shoving him towards the tent. 

He takes his victories where he can get them. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on twitter @moringottos


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